Shivering in the night suddenly turned cold, the echoes of her father’s uncaring tone still ringing in her ears, Amber jerked to a sitting position in the bed. Praise Allah, it had only been a nightmare—
But this bed, sagging slightly, definitely wasn’t hers, and choppy breathing came from a few feet away. Adjusting to the darkness and unfamiliar room, she gradually took in the form of her husband sleeping in a chair beside the bed.
Although the sight of him made her ache somehow—he looked like a bronze statue of male perfection in the pale moonlight, even half crumpled in the chair—reality returned to her in seconds, the reasons why they were here. And what they’d done to convince their abductors that they were cooperating…
A hot shiver ran down her spine.
She looked again at her sleeping husband, realising anew the masculine beauty of him. His face was gentle in repose, seeming so much younger.
She reached out, touching him very softly. His skin was cool to the touch. He was shivering as she’d been; there were goosebumps on his arms. His sheet must have slipped to the floor long ago, and he was still half naked, only clad in those silky boxers. Obviously he’d left her the blanket, but she’d kicked it off some time in the night.
During the search earlier, neither of them had found a second covering of any kind, so she could do nothing but share the blanket they had. The modesty he’d given her in sleeping on the chair was touching, but it was ridiculous when they were married. If either of them took sick, they had no way to care for the other.
‘Harun,’ she whispered, but he didn’t move. Taking him by the shoulder, she shook it, feeling the flex and ripple of muscles beneath her fingers. ‘Harun, come—’ she stopped herself from saying come to bed only just in time ‘—under the blanket. You’re cold.’
An indistinct mumble was his only response.
Impatient, getting sleepy again, she grabbed his shoulders with both hands, pulling him towards her. ‘Come on, Harun. You’ll be in agony in the morning, sleeping like that. I can’t afford for you to get sick.’
Something must have penetrated, for he fell onto the bed, landing almost right on top of her, his leg and arm falling over her body, trapping her. ‘Mmm, Amber, lovely Amber,’ he mumbled, moving his aroused body against hers, his lips nuzzling her throat. ‘Taste so good…knew you would. Like sandalwood honey.’ And before she could gather her wits or move, he kept right on going, lower, until he was kissing her shoulder, and she had no idea if he was awake or seducing her in his dreams.
She couldn’t think enough to care…her neck and shoulder arched with a volition of their own as he nibbled the juncture between both, and the bliss was exquisite. And when his hand covered her breast, caressing her taut nipple, the joy was sharp as a blade, a beautiful piercing of her entire being. ‘Harun, oh,’ she cried aloud, craving more—
His eyes opened, and even in the moonlit night she saw the lust and sleepy confusion. Gazing down, he saw his hand covering her breast. ‘I’m sorry…I was dreaming. I didn’t mean to take advantage of you.’ He shook his head. ‘How did I get on the bed?’
A dull ache smothered the lovely desire like a fire-retardant blanket. ‘I woke up—you were shivering, and I pulled you over. The sheet wasn’t warm enough for you,’ she replied drearily. Who had he been dreaming of when he’d said her name? ‘It’s all right. Take the blanket and go back to sleep.’
‘Amber…’
‘Don’t,’ she said sharply. Don’t be kind to me, or I might just break down. She rolled away from him so he wouldn’t see her humiliation. ‘Goodnight.’
The next afternoon
Any moment now, he’d pick her up and throw her on the bed, and make love to her until they both died of exhaustion.
He’d been going crazy since last night. Pretending to sleep for her sake, he’d lain still on the bed until his entire body had throbbed and hurt; he knew she was doing the same. Then, just as his burning body talked him into rolling over and making love to her, her soft, even breathing told him she slept.
That he’d made Amber cry simply by not continuing to make love to her was a revelation to him. In three long, dreary years, all he’d known was her contempt and anger, even the night she’d asked him to come to her bed. But within the space of a day, he’d seen her show him regret, budding friendship, trust, need and—for that blazing second when he’d awoken with his hand on her breast—pure desire for him. He’d come so close to giving in, giving them what they both wanted—only a tiny sound from outside the room, a shuffle of feet, a little cough, had reminded him of their watchers, had held him back.
And how could he risk his brother’s life?
It kept going back to that choice: their personal happiness, or Alim’s life. If there was a way to know Alim was safe, if they could escape and have some privacy, he’d give their abductors what they wanted, over and over. Now he knew Amber wanted him…
But without meaning to, he’d hurt and humiliated her. His apology had wounded her pride in a way she was going to find extremely hard to forgive.
After hours of silence between them and no touching, he spoke with gentle deliberation. ‘I’m sorry about last night.’
Her lips parted as her head turned. ‘You already apologised. Anyway why should you apologise? You were dreaming, right?’ Oh, so cold, so imperious, her tone—but his deepest male instincts told him it was the exact opposite of what she felt inside.
He looked into her eyes. ‘I heard a cough outside the room. The first time I make love to you will not be by accident, with an audience of strangers through holes in the wall.’
A surprised blink covered a moment’s softness in her eyes. ‘That’s a fairly big assumption to make.’
Despite the cold fury in her voice, he wanted to smile. ‘That we’ll make love? Or that you can forgive me for neglecting you all these years, and welcome me in your bed?’
‘Either. Both,’ she said quietly, ‘especially considering the neglect was of epic proportions, and publicly humiliating.’
At that, he offered her a wry smile. ‘I had no wish for a martyr bride, Amber. I’m fairly sure you didn’t want a dutiful, reluctant husband, either. I believed you had no desire for me; you believed that I never desired you. All this time we both wanted the same thing, if only we’d tried to talk.’
She looked right into his face, her chin lifted. ‘Did you really just say that—if we’d tried to talk?’
He had to concede that point if he wanted to get anywhere with her. ‘You’re right, I’m the one that didn’t try—but ask yourself how hard you’d have tried, if you’d thought I was in love with your sister.’
Another slow blink as she thought about it. ‘Maybe—’
But just as the frost covering her hidden passion finally began to soften he heard the door open, and he cursed the constant interferences between them—but then, with a smothered gasp, Amber bolted off the window seat and cannoned into him. ‘He’s pointing that rifle at me,’ she whispered, shaking, as his arms came around her. ‘And…and he’s looking at me, and I’m only wearing this thing.’
Like a whip he flung around to face the guard, putting Amber behind him. ‘What is this?’ he demanded four times over, in different dialects. ‘Answer me, why do you terrify my wife this way?’ Again he said it in another few dialects—all of Amber’s home region.
The man never so much as glanced their way; he answered only by moving the rifle inward, towards the dining table.
Amber’s chest heaved against his back as she tried to control her fear.
Three men followed him into the room, bearing a more substantial meal than they’d eaten yesterday, or at breakfast, three full choices of meal plus teas, juice or water. The men set the table with exquisite care, as if he and Amber were honoured guests at a six-star hotel. Then they held out the seats, playing the perfect waiters—only the maître d’ was holding an assault rifle on them.
Harun stood his ground, shielding Amber with his body. �
�Move away from the chairs. Don’t come near my wife. Stop looking at her or I will find who you are after this and kill you with my bare hands.’
After a moment, with a look of deep respect the head guard bowed, and waved the others back. When they were out, he took several steps back himself before he stopped, staring at the furthest wall from their captives.
Harun led Amber to her chair and seated her himself, blocking her from their view so they could see no part of her semi-exposed body. ‘Now get out,’ he barked.
He bowed again, and left the room.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered, hanging onto his hand when he would have moved.
‘There’s nothing to thank me for.’ Some emotion he couldn’t define was coursing through him, as if he were flying with his own wings. He didn’t trust it.
‘I can’t take much more of this—this terrifying silence,’ she muttered, her free hand clenching and unclenching. ‘Why did he point the rifle at me? What did I do?’
Harun had his own ideas, but he doubted saying, Their objective is achieved, Amber, you ran straight to me, would help now, or bring her any comfort. She might even begin to suspect him.
Instead of sitting, he released her hand, and wrapped his arms around her from behind. ‘I know I may not seem like much help to you in this situation, Amber, but I swear I’ll protect you with my life if need be.’
She twisted around so her face tilted up to his. ‘You know that’s not true. Last night, I told you how glad I am you’re here…and you saw, you must have seen that…’ Her lips pushed hard together.
It was time; he knew it, could feel it; but still he would give her a gift first. ‘Yes, I saw that you desire me, how you loved my touch.’ With a gentle smile, he touched her burning face. ‘And you had to see how much I desire you, Amber. If it hadn’t been for the guards, we’d have made love last night.’
She said nothing, but her eyes spoke encyclopaedic volumes of doubt. ‘You said my name. I wasn’t sure if you meant it.’
In the half-question, and the deep shadows in her eyes, he saw the depth of the damage he’d done to her by his neglect. She had no idea at all; she’d never once seen his desire until last night, and she even doubted it had been for her.
It seemed he’d hidden his feelings too well—and at this point he doubted just showing her would be enough. He had to open up, starting now.
‘I did mean it, Amber. My dreams were of you. My dreams have been of you for a long time.’ Taking her hand again, he lifted it to his mouth and pressed a lingering kiss to her palm. When she didn’t snatch her hand away, but drew in a quick, slightly trembling breath, he let his lips roam to her wrist. ‘Sandalwood honey,’ he murmured against her skin. ‘The most exquisite taste I’ve known.’
She didn’t answer him, except in the tips of her fingers that caressed his face, then retreated. So tentative still, she was afraid to give anything away. Unsure if, even now, he’d walk away again and leave her humiliated. He’d damaged her that much through the years, which meant he had the power to hurt her—and that meant more than any clumsy words of reassurance she could give.
It was time to give back, to be the one to reach out and risk rejection.
So hard to start, but he’d already done that; and now, to his surprise, the words flowed more easily. ‘You need to know now. I haven’t been with any woman since we married. I kept my vows, as difficult as that’s been at times.’
Her look of doubt grew, but she said nothing.
He smiled at her. ‘It’s true, Amber. I didn’t want a replacement. I wanted you.’
The little frown between her brows deepened. ‘Then why…?’
Walking around to face her, he took both hands in his and lifted her to her feet. ‘I refused to continue last night because our audience made it clear they were there watching us. I’m not a man who likes applause and cheering on, and I didn’t think you’d want your first time to be here, where any of them could see us.’
‘No, I wouldn’t. Thank you for thinking of it,’ she murmured, her gaze dropping to his mouth, and his whole body heated with a burst of flame at the look in her eyes. ‘But I don’t understand why you didn’t come to me before—oh.’ She nodded slowly. ‘Because of what I said to my father.’
‘I’m not Alim. I’ll never be like Alim.’ She had to know that now. He’d rather burn like this the rest of his life than be his brother’s replacement in her eyes, or in her bed.
‘I know who you are.’ And still she stared at his mouth with open yearning that made him define the alien, flying feeling—he was so glad to be alive, to be the man she desired.
Then her head tilted, and he mentally prepared himself: she did that when she wanted to know something he wouldn’t want to answer. ‘Why do you think you can never compare to Alim? I barely knew him. You must have known that; he left for the racing circuit days after I met him, and then ran from the country as soon as he could leave the hopspital. He never wanted me, and you say you did. So why didn’t you try for me?’
As far as hard questions went, that was number one. He felt himself tensing, ready to give the shrug that was his defence mechanism, to walk away—
Trouble was, there was nowhere to go, no place of escape. And he knew what she was going to say before she said, very softly, ‘You promised to talk to me.’
At that moment he almost loathed her. He’d never broken a promise in his life, never walked away in dishonour; but trying to put his disjointed thoughts together was like trying to catch grains of sand in a desert storm. What did she want him to say?
‘Just tell me the truth,’ she said, just as quietly as before, smiling at him. As if she’d seen his inner turbulence and wanted to calm it.
Nothing would do that. There was no way out this time. So he said it, hard and fast. ‘I don’t compare to him. I never have. What was the point in trying for you when you wanted a man that wasn’t me? I was never anything but a replacement for him, with Fadi and with you. I always knew that.’
CHAPTER NINE
IF THERE was anything she’d expected Harun to say, it wasn’t that. She’d hoped to hear a complaint about his family, or about how he’d lived in the shadow of a famous, heroic brother—but never that calmly spoken announcement, like a fact long accepted. I don’t compare to him. I never have.
A sense of foreboding touched Amber’s heart, a premonition of the hardships facing her if she chose to spend her life with this man. How would I have ended up, had Alim been my brother, if I’d lived in the shadow of a famous sibling and ended up taking on all the responsibilities he didn’t want?
The thought came from deep inside her, from the girl who’d never really felt like a princess, but a commodity for sale to the highest bidder. And she spoke before she knew what she wanted to say. ‘That’s another big assumption to make, considering my total acquaintance with Alim has been five days, and I’ve known you three years.’
He flicked her another resentful glance, but she wouldn’t back down. He had nowhere to go, and his honour meant more than anything. He’d answer her, if she waited long enough.
Lucky she wasn’t holding her breath; she’d be dead by the time he finally said, ‘I know what I am in your eyes, Amber. And I know what Alim is.’
She frowned. ‘One sentence made in grief and not even knowing you, and that’s it? You just write me off your things to do list? Marry her and ignore her because she insulted me once when she didn’t know I was listening? I don’t care if she apologised.’
Another look, fuming and filled with frustration; how he hated to talk. But finally he said, ‘I’m not Alim.’
By now she felt almost as angry as him, but some instinct told her he was deliberately pushing her there to make her stop talking to him. So she’d keep control if it killed her. ‘That sounds like a statement someone else told you that you’re repeating. And don’t tell me Fadi ever said it to you. He adored you.’ After a long stretch of silence, she said it for him. ‘How old were you the fi
rst time your parents told you that Alim was better than you?’
The one-shoulder shrug came, but she didn’t let herself care. So he said it, again with that quiet acceptance. ‘I don’t remember a time when they didn’t say it.’
He wasn’t angry, fighting or drowning in self-pity. He believed it, and that was all.
Bam. Like that she felt the whack of a hammer, snatching her breath, thickening her throat and making her eyes sting. His own parents had done that to him? No wonder he couldn’t believe in her; he didn’t know how to believe in himself. And the truth that she’d pushed away for years whispered to her inside her mind, why she’d fought to push him out of his isolation and to notice her. I love him.
Every messed-up, silent, heroic, inch of him. He’d crept into her soul from the time he’d marched away with his men, and returned a hero, hating the adulation. She’d been amazed when he’d handed everything back to Alim without wanting a thing. She’d thought him so humble. Now she knew the truth: he didn’t think he deserved the adoration of the nation; that was Alim’s portion. He’d been in the shadows so long he found the limelight terrifying.
Don’t you see, Amber, I’m doing everything I can do?
The words he’d given her in rejection of creating a child with her finally made horrible sense…and she knew if she pushed him to tell her everything, he’d never forgive her.
‘Before our wedding, my father told me that the lion draws obvious admiration, but you need to look deeper to see the tiger’s quiet strength. I’ve known that was true for a long time now,’ she said softly, and touched his face. Warm and soft, not the unyielding granite she’d found repellent and fascinating at once; he was a man, just a damaged, honourable, limping, beloved hero, and she loved him.
He stared at her, looked hard and dazed at once. He shook his head, and her hand fell—but she refused to leave it like that. She touched him again. ‘Habib numara,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve wanted you for so long.’
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